4-5-6 lyrics

[Intro: Beanie Sigel]
Ugh
Ughh, yeah
This Beanie Sigel
That Philly cat who ain't with that silly rap
Put your weight up, not your hate up n*gga
Y'all know how I play, quiet towns, we tie 'em down

[Verse 1: Beanie Sigel]
Haters wonderin' how I got a position with Roc
Cause I listen to The LOX and I listen then watch
While you still sittin' in spots, ditchin' the cops
I'm in the Porsche Box with Fox, glistenin' watch
War steel gray, Lexus, GS-4
Desert Eagle metal in the door, pedal to the floor
I'm routin' down South, for my aim is to score
Eight cylinder, screamin' 'f*ck the law!'
Got a tank full of gas, trunk full of cash
Hammers in the stash, scanners in the dash
Radar detectors, troopers can't find us
We bubble down ATL and hit the 'Linas
Then get clubbed with some Dirty South thugs
Go all out thugs, go in your house thugs
Talk sh*t, put blood in your mouth thugs
36 South stuck, stay on route thugs
You know how Mac play, quiet town, tie it down
I supply it now, by the pound
Might front you a Q if you buy a pound
If you didn't try it then, why would you try it now?
Think cause Mac rap, I wouldn't fire a round into your crown
I lay you down and retire you clown
And I clap n*ggas, nap n*ggas in the dirt
Pat-pat with the deuce deuce, it'll work
b*tch ass n*ggas wearin' thongs and skirts
Catch 'em early in the mornin' while they goin' to work
See you pretty motherf*ckers stay stuck in the mirror
And you weak ass n*ggas only bust outta fear
I know y'all softer than them feathers that they stuff in a bear
I pack two barettas, never bust in the air
Twist your sh*t back, spit til my gat sits back
Pack four pieces like a Kit Kat. Heh, get that?
Cop Cris' by the six-pack, Range Rov?' Dot six that
Benz Coupe, drop six that
Buggy eye seven come out? sh*t, took the six back
Switch the Double R, the Double R's are, gotta get that
You see how we play, pop Cris' on the E-Way
Soakin' the seat, gettin' drunk with Bleek
Or the Shark Bar, grilled salmon, poppin' Dom P
While you chicken when you chasin' your high with hot tea
n*ggas flashin' back money like it's they money
Slap 500 on back of a three-twenty
I'm bringin' it to any n*gga tryin' to shoot games (yeah)
With them bullsh*t buggy-eyed kits and CDs
[Verse 2: Memphis Bleek]
Check it out, yo, yo
Well, I'm a lil' n*gga don't speak, I tote heat
Here to shut down your whole operation on the street
Bleek, you know n*ggas just had to recruit this
My flow drool out like a old n*gga toothless
Who would believe they pump Bleek with Ritalin
Too hyped up, but weed calm my adrenaline
Broke day on the strip, SK in the crib
Hundred crack viles, playin' the bench
Nickel nine gleam, like it's Armor All'd up
My squad be armed up, gotcha n*ggas' arms up
Who the f*ck want what? Me and Beans charmed up
Witcha town under siege
Dillinger in the sleeve
If my gun jam, you n*ggas'll squeeze on me
You n*ggas them cats, that'll call D's on me
I'm on on my off game, need a stadium for in stores
Floss chains and I pimp whores, stay smoked out
Shirt be poked out with the snub-nosed eight
Six to jump out, you eat what you spit
Motherf*cker die clean
For you actin' tough cats, but in your heart you serene
I read your body languo
You off balance and don't wanna mangle
You want a challenge, get it brought to from every angle
This sh*t'll slow 'em down, I bet that
Your up front dough and your six, bet that motherf*cker
[Verse 3: Foxy Brown]
Sassy Fox some brick money, cop me a drop
You know how I run it, 600, glassy top
Rock the light gray wrist sh*t, flash them rocks
The red, the yellow, the green, causin' traffic stops
b*tch please, never freeze, gonna blast the Glock
Then I show a little cleave' and breeze past the cops
You talk slick but suck di*k for money in y'all hand
I'm like, "b*tch, I got more money than your man"
While you get your knees scraped up, c*m all on your glands
sh*t, I'm in the V-Twiz ballin' on you tramps
Y'all hoes greasy, so I keep the b*tch easy
Rookie, f*ck you know about Glocks and pock' books?
You know Na Na rock that sh*t, Pra-da that sh*t
Es-ca that sh*t, Dolce Gabba that sh*t
Hollow points, top that sh*t, f*ck you tryin' to aim
Pop that sh*t, yeah, n*gga, Fox got that sh*t
You see the ice wrist sh*t, can you cop that sh*t
Chenille, crocodile and ostrich sh*t, whoa!
You know my style, I be spendin' they cash
And I'll show their little di*k some celebrity ass
And get 'em a brick, I know what style to get them n*ggas sh*t real
Well, f*ck, I let 'em live and lick the tip of my sh*t
To remind 'em of some rose petals, candles, and sh*t
Or some hydro like the n*gga grew a plant in my sh*t
So that's what it is, that's why them hoes mad at my sh*t
See my whilin' in the four-six, stylin' on they bum ass
Goddess MC, y'all b*tches is little Foxes
I see my girls frontin', tossin' they little watches
Cris? I pops it. f*ckin' a n*gga topless
Cats? I fouls on. Hoes? I styles on, n*gga
Wear y'all out then air y'all out
Over here? Hustle from where, clear all out
sh*t, greyhound b*tch, stay down b*tch
And y'all know Jigga sent me here to lay down sh*t
I will spray y'all n*ggas, and waste y'all n*ggas
Cause I f*cked the n*gga and pay y'all n*ggas
sh*t, what the f*ck